The Lives before Death
by RottenSeahorse
Summary: Decided to do a story to how the Left4Dead  1 and 2  teams met, and what their back story was. I just made this up, not saying it's what really happened. Rated M for the later-on blood content and light cussing.


Louis had visited the hospital three times that week. He felt like it was a required task to do every afternoon after work. He would drive home, get into some better clothes, and drive back down the road to the Mercy hospital about a mile from his apartment.

He would always bring some flowers, and a diminishing gleeful attitude. The last time he had visited, which was the day before the last (the reason having to stay late at work for some complication due to paperwork) and had received grieving news that his wife probably wouldn't make it to see the end of the week.

His mind thought over these past events as he drove solemnly back to his apartment. That day at work had been slow, and it glazed by for him. He loved his work, but today was entirely different. He got some concerned questions from his coworkers, but he only shrugged them off like a bugging fly.

He pulled into the parking lot seated next to his apartment, and sat in the car for the longest time. He slouched against the leather chair of his Toyota and folded his hands over his stomach. His eyes kept its gaze on the dark leather steering wheel, and he let himself go into a very light sleep.

The nap didn't last very long, because he had woken up in a cold sweat about 30 minutes later. The signs of dusk showed in the sky, the streaks of purple and orange touching the sky with their glorious stripes. He wiped his forehead, feeling sweat stick to his hand.

He must have had a nightmare, although he couldn't exactly remember what it was about. He sat up rather hurriedly, and got out of the car. It was humid, and Louis loosened his tie against his neck to let the air circulate more into his collar.

With rather grieving strides, he made his way to the elevator and clicked for his floor number. The apartment he lived in was just like all of the others in New York: simply, dainty, livable. That's how Louis had always seen his apartment ever since he moved in with his wife six years ago.

No kids, no they haven't thought about having kids yet. Grace (his wife's name) had been bugging him the past month about having one, but just a week after those little hints, she had gotten sick. Well, she wasn't alone.

It was strange. Almost half of the city was sick with some kind of extreme epidemic. Strangely enough, Louis was just fine, not once getting any sign of flu or a cold. He just counted himself lucky. He stood in the elevator quietly, tapping his foot to the hearty jingle that sang from the speakers inside of the elevator.

He sure hated elevator music, but right now he just…didn't care. The elevator stopped on his floor, and he walked out into the simple hallway. It was decorated with cream-colored wallpaper, a dark red flourished carpet, and paintings that were probably bought on eBay or from some desperate artist on the street.

He never forgot the number of his apartment door…3B. It sounded cool, Three Bee. Like some funny limerick for a child's book.

He opened the door, entering his dark dimmed living room, and placed his jacket onto the chair next to the door.

He stood there a moment, soaking in the silence and loneliness that was there before him. "Home." He stated out into the darkness, which echoed and bounced off of the many walls. He expected no answer, which he received, but he was so use to calling that out and hearing his wife reply, that he seemed like it was required…even if she wasn't there.

He set his suitcase on the kitchen table, untied his red tie, and went to the counter. There, he made himself lightly caffeinated coffee and heated leftover lasagna.

Guess he wasn't going to visit Grace tonight. He felt horrible for not, like he needed to (especially tonight). He sat at the kitchen table, gazing off into space and eating his semi-cold lasagna. It was so quiet in the house…so alone…so dark.

The phone rang. Louis snapped his gaze to the phone that was seated against the wall across the room from him. He didn't want to get it, almost too scared to pick up and find out who was on the other line.

He made it look like the Devil himself was on the other line, telling him he was destined to die a bloody, graphic death. Or worse…

He stood up, letting a sigh escape his thin lips, and made his way to the phone. He picked it up, giving off a mumbled, "Hello?" to the other end.

"Is this Louis?" The woman on the other line asked professionally. Louis almost nodded in response, but he knew he was on a phone. _The woman can't see me nod, for Christ's sake. _He thought as he answered with a soft "_yes_".

"Could you come down to the Mercy hospital? It's about Grace." The woman responded, her voice getting softer with every word. Louis felt his stomach give a lurch, and he felt what little glee he had from that day suddenly whisk away like some cold breeze running up his spine.

So the Devil himself _was_ really giving him a call…

_**oOoOoOoOoOoOo**_

He entered the room that his wife was being treated in, a cold shadow of despair descending onto his shoulders as he met the grim faces of the nurses and doctors. He almost seemed to hover over to where his wife was laying.

She was pale, and green warts dotted her face and arms grotesquely. "What is this?" He choked out, looking down at his wife with some kind of traumatic shock.

One of the doctors coughed into her hand, "It's still a mystery. There are hundreds of civilians with the same condition but it's a mystery to us! CEDA won't give us any information about the epidemic." Louis turned her, his gaze not once looking up from the linoleum floor.

"So the CEDA won't tell you…" He repeated to himself. The doctor nodded.

The doctor had another spasm of coughs, which made the other faculty in the room seem to worry greatly. One of the male doctors wrapped an arm around her shoulders, turning her to the doorway leading to the hall, "Maybe we should all leave. If half of New York is under this flu, then it probably is going to keep spreading."

Louis didn't move from his spot next to his wife, who was weak and pale, and her breathing was almost undetectable. "Love you Grace," He whispered, rubbing his thumb along her infected hand, "have fun up there."

He followed the other doctors out of the room, and looked back one last time as one of the nurses closed the door and taped a **TOXIC! HAZARDOUS, DO NOT ENTER** sign on the door.

_**oOoOoOoOoOo**_

The drive home was almost too much to handle for him. He wiped the steady streaming of tears from his eyes as he tried to keep his focus on the road. It had started to rain, a light rain, which just fit the depressing mood for this day.

He had to stop a couple times on the side of the road, bent over in his Toyota and weeping into his palms. He felt unclean, like grit and dirt was moving around in his body. He wanted to just stand out in the rain, just look out into the dark sky and…be alone.

And he did just that.

He parked in a parking space along the street, almost fell out of the car, and brushed himself off. The rain felt good against his skin, and he let his head fall back and get soaked by the steady shower of drops from the ledge of the overhanging roof, and the sky.

It almost felt…refreshing.

He knew he had to head home sooner or later (that cold, dark, lonely apartment with nothing but his steady growing insanity…or has it depression?), but right now his mind was occupied on the rain, the sweet, cold, refreshing rain.

He dug his hands into his pants pockets, and closed his eyes. He needed this…just this. And for a moment, just a moment, Louis could almost feel a cold wind of air brush through him, and a hand lay on his shoulder. He knew nothing was there, he knew it was just his imagination, but he sighed and let his mind think whatever it wanted. He imagined it was Grace, and smiled.


End file.
